Rydell was hating his life. Even more that usual, he wanted to get out. This was not a good day. He woke up, went to work, had to work until half-past-nine, and now he was sitting in a Starbucks with the Infernal Demon of Coffee on the other side of the table, discussing how theology is real. God is real. Lucifer is real. Heaven and Hell are real. Rydell felt like he was in his own personal Hell, surrounded by trend-followers and caffeine addicts. Cups of hot bean-juice with names longer than those of Spanish royalty tainted the air with their smell. Coffee was evil. Mr. Coffee leaned over and spoke.
“What’s on your mind, Rydell?”
“You know I’ve avoided this place like the plague.” Rydell looked up and glared at the purple demon, who only grinned back.
“Coffee is the plague. Coffee is my plague.”
“So why coffee? What’s the big deal about it?”
“Well, us demons, we can command people. All we have to do is focus on a person or group, tell them what to do, and they do it.”
“Go on.”
“The problem is, doing that attracts the angels like iron filings to a magnet. It’s not exactly subtle.”
“So you do it with coffee?”
“Pretty much. I infuse a few crates of beans with some small command, like ‘coffee makes you belong,’ ‘drink more coffee,’ or ‘be more agitated.’”
“So you have thousands of people in town doing whatever you want, and the angels can’t do anything about it?”
“Basically. Angels are weird like that. They know when something is happening to humans, but stuff like lamp posts or TV’s or coffee beans don’t register on their celestial radars.”
“So why don’t you just command me to obey?”
“That’s where the fun part comes along. You can’t be overwilled.”
“I can’t be? How’s that?”
“You just can’t. At any given time on the planet, there are about half a dozen Unwillables. There’s also about half a dozen True Visionaries. For the first time in the history of humanity, the two divine qualities have settled on the same person.”
“Me.”
“You.”
“Why me? I’ve never been to church in my life. I never believed there was a God until I saw you.”
“You know Old Mrs. Ambercrombie?”
“That lady down the street from my house?”
“Yeah. She goes to church every Sunday. Sits through both morning services, attends every picnic or bake sale or whatever.”
“So?”
“So, she’s not going to Heaven.”
Rydell nodded. “I’d imagine that most people don’t. Is Hell getting overcrowded?”
Mr. Coffee shook his head. “Nah, most people don’t secure themselves a place in either, so their soul is wiped clean and crammed into another body, with another chance to do some good or fuck up big-time.”
“And what about us Unwillables?”
“Well, you guys are kinda funny that way. You don’t go to either Heaven or Hell, but you don’t get reincarnated, either.”
“So we just…end?”
“Not really. You go somewhere else.”
“A third afterlife?”
“Kinda. It’s like this: Heaven is for the pure and innocent, Hell is for the twisted and depraved, like me, and then there’s Area 3, for those who actually made some sort of real advancement to the world. By God’s rules, you can only make a ‘big achievement’ if it’s celestial in nature, so only the True Visionaries and the Unwillables can make it in.”
“And I’m both. Where does that put me?”
Mr. Coffee shrugged. “Area 3, I’d think. Or maybe you’d go to some new Area 4, where only the Unwillable Visionaries go, except that would be really lonely. You might be the only one there for about twenty thousand years.”
“Oh, lovely. And I don’t get a choice in the matter?”
“Man, you’re pushy! You can do anything you want in your life, and you want more from your afterlife!”
“Jeez, keep it down! Hey, these people don’t think I’m talking to myself, do I?”
“Nah. They think you and I are regular people, talking about how crappy our jobs are.”
“Nice. Okay, now here’s the burning question, Mr. Coffee: why have you taken an interest in me?”
“Well, divine or infernal beings like me and my friends can’t do much to the real world. We can get others to do it, but if we so much as slap a human, it lets all the other celestials in the area know and home in on us. On the other hand, if we get a human to slap another human for us, no pings. Celestials can beat each other as much as they please, we just have to be careful not to destroy much property or hit any human bystanders.”
“So obviously, you’re going to take notice of a guy you can’t boss around.”
“Rydell, do you know why we killed the angels’ human vessels? We did it because they were going to take you off somewhere and tie you down so you couldn’t run off.”
“And what are you planning to do with me?”
Mr. Coffee shrugged again. “You can do whatever you want. You see, the angels think that we’ll try to corrupt you and manipulate you since we can’t just order you to do anything. They’d do anything to stop us from controlling you, and that means they’re willing to keep you tied up in a shed for a while.”
“Some angels.”
“Well, just because they’re made by God doesn’t mean that they’re paragons of truth, justice, and the Heavenly way. Some are. Saccharine pukes, if you ask me. Anyway, we aren’t so lucky here in Domingo. No, no, we were assigned a group personally handpicked by Michael, Archangel of War. Normally, that wouldn’t be so bad, just means a few extra fights. Unfortunately, the war angels he sent are one voice short of a choir. They’re absolute fanatics to their cause, and they don’t exercise much logic in how they follow their orders. I guess they have orders to protect you from infernal influence or something. Well, they already failed, so I’ll bet old Mike’s chewing their asses out.”
“You said they’d be back in a week?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Are they still going to fight with you over me?”
“Naturally. We need to put a stop to it.”
“You mean, I need to put a stop to it.”
“Pretty much.”
“And all the pieces fall into place. How many are there?”
“Five. We have a numerical advantage, but they have Michael backing them up and boosting them.”
“Boosting? As in, giving them more power?”
“Yeah. And he’s allowing them to get humans involved and giving them celestial powers.”
“That doesn’t make me happy. Do I get any powers or anything?”
“Nah. None of us demons are allowed to give you any powers. Same goes for the angels. It’s part of being Unwillable.”
“Great. So what do I do when Domingo becomes a warzone?”
Mr. Coffee grinned and pulled his hand out from under the table, and slid a very large pistol across to Rydell. The gun looked like any modern handgun, except that it was painted white and black. Nobody in the coffee shop seemed to notice.
